Untitled
by GothicPanda
Summary: Something's wrong with Logan. Will be multi-chapter piece. It's my first X-men fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

Untitled

Chapter 1

  


Disclaimer: No, I don't own the X-Men. Marvel does. I wish I owned Logan..but I digress..*ahem* anyways..yeah.

  


Authors Notes: No title yet, no idea how long this will be, but I have to say thanks to Matt, the love of my life for his help on this. It's my first X-Men fic..so please don't hit me with a stick. And now, on with the show.

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Logan trudged through the woods behind Charles Xavier's school for Mutants. He looked around, sniffing. Occasionally he reached up to brush snowflakes from his sideburns.

"How hard are you going to make this?" an annoyed voice called out from a short distance behind. Scott waded through the ankle-deep snow until he was standing next to Logan. "Can we just pick one and go? The storm is getting worse. And it's getting cold."

Logan only turned and gave Scott a glare. The two men had been sent on a mission. They were supposed to be finding a Christmas tree for the mansion. Scott sighed as Logan moved on deeper into the woods. 

"Here it is," Logan finally spoke. 

"It's about time," Scott grumbled. It was getting colder, the wind was picking up, and he was ready to go home and curl up under a nice soft blanket with his wife. 

Logan walked around the tree, unsheathing his claws with a familiar *SNIKT*. He winced painfully. It seemed to hurt more than it usually did when the indestructible metal ripped through his flesh. He was glad ole one-eye hadn't noticed. After he made sure that the tree was satisfactory he knelt down, and with one hit severed the tree from its place in the ground. He didn't say a word to Scott, but started back toward the mansion, with both him and the tree in tow. 

Scott wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, muttering and complaining. With the ground covered in snow, he didn't notice the hidden tree root buried until he tripped over it, twisted his ankle hard and then went tumbling down a small embankment. He lay there stunned, snow now inside his jacket, burning his skin as it melted. His ankle was throbbing.

_It would be so wrong to just leave him here, but it's so tempting, _Logan thought to himself as he dropped the tree and sauntered back to Scott. 

"You know this is all your fault!" Scott hollered, pulling himself to a sitting position. "If you weren't so careless this never would have happened! We could have gone to the store and bought a tree! You're going to get someone killed some day, you know that?"

"I feel so much better knowing that someone who hasn't even mastered the intricacies of walking is telling me I'm careless," Logan replied sarcastically.

Scott huffed and got to his feet, then promptly hit the ground again with a loud, "OW!"

Logan could only roll his eyes and think, what a pretty-boy. _I wonder what Jean sees in him. _

"Great, just great!" Scott continued to holler. "It's cold..and now my ankle hurts..my clothes are soaked..and I'm stuck here with you."

Logan crossed his arms over his chest. "You could be stuck here by yourself. I'm not the one with the bum ankle now, am I?" He smiled almost devilishly and Scott looked at him, really expecting Logan to leave him out in the snow to freeze. Instead, Logan reached out a hand, which Scott reluctantly took. As he hefted Scott to his good foot, Logan winced when the other mutant's fingers touched where the skin was still raw from his claws. He draped Scott's arm around his neck so that he could use his good foot to support some of his weight. Slowly they made their way to the tree. 

"Grab a branch and pull, since you're occupying both my arms."

Scott did as he was told and together they made the trip back to the mansion, gimp, tree, and all. 

  


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"What took you guys so long?" Jean questioned, as the two men entered the kitchen from the back door. "Scott, honey, what happened?" She was on him in seconds, helping him from Logan's arms to a kitchen chair.

"Cyke here decided he wanted to make snow angels," Logan snickered as he pulled the tree in and closed the door.

Scott shot Logan a nasty look. "Oh it's nothing. I just tripped over a tree root buried under the snow."

"It's obviously not "nothing" if Logan had to help you back to the house," she badgered, as she started to untie his shoe and remove it.

"OW!"

Logan rolled his eyes and removed his gloves. He blinked, realizing his hands were caked with blood, and small gashes from his claws where still there. 

"Scott, I think your ankle may be broken," Jean sighed as she palpated various bones in her husband's foot. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes and we'll take you downstairs and get some x-rays." She helped Scott to his feet and led him to their bedroom.

Just as he was cleaning the remains of blood off his hands, Rogue came into the kitchen and spotted the tree. 

"Oooo!" she squealed in delight. "When are we goin ta put it up? Hank and Kurt already have the decorations out." 

"Give me a minute to clean up and then I'll bring it into the living room," Logan replied. He smirked as Rogue skipped off to tell the others. Then his attention turned back to his hands. The blood was gone, and so were the gashes. His hands were still a bit tender though. Normally it didn't take this long for his healing ability to work. 

"Logan!" Rogue's voice called out. "Come on ay'an get that tree in he'uh!"

Logan dried his hands and grabbed hold of the tree, dragging it through the rest of the kitchen and leaving pine needles in a trail behind him. He pulled the tree upright and carried it to where the masses were waiting for him to put it in the stand. 

  


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Scott sat on one of the tables in the medlab, arms across his chest, watching his wife tack up x-rays on a light board. He was annoyed. When the professor had asked them to get a tree, he figured they could just go and pick it off a lot somewhere. But Mister Nature-Boy had to do his animal act and sniff one out in the woods. 

"It's not Logan's fault you tripped," Jean spoke. She was busy looking at the x-rays, and did not turn to face Scott. "It was an accident."

Scott clammed up. He knew Jean had read his mind. Sometimes having a telepathic wife wasn't all good. And to make matters worse, she had just stood up for Logan knowing full well how Scott felt about him . 

Jean sighed and pulled a stool next to the bed. "It's broken sweetie."

"Great," Scott grumbled. "Just great."

"It's not a bad break. You'll be fine. When the swelling goes down I can put a cast on it."

Scott glanced at his foot. Even with the ice pack draped over, he could see his toes were puffy. "So what now?"

Jean reached out and smoothed his hair back sympathetically. "You go upstairs and rest, relax, keep ice on it...and let me take care of you."

Scott couldn't help letting a small smile erase some of his bad mood. He took Jean's hand and gave it a quick kiss then watched her disappear into a closet. She returned with a set of aluminum crutches and some other various pieces of equipment. He groaned and gestured toward the crutches, "Those hurt your armpits!"

"Well you won't need to be using them that much. Because you're going to stay off your feet," Jean replied, gently wrapping ace bandages around his foot. When she'd applied 3 of them, she slipped an air brace around the injured limb and velcroed it in place. "Now let's get you to bed." She helped him sit up and made sure he would be steady enough on the crutches to make it upstairs. 

Jean helped Scott settle into the bed, propping his foot gently on a pillow. "Now I want you to relax..I'll be right back."

  


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Logan was heading to bed when he passed by Jean and Scott's room. The door was slightly ajar and he stood quietly in the shadowed hallway, watching them.

"He has to make everything so..difficult," Logan heard Scott say. "Not just the silly tree..everything."

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down," Jean's voice replied softly. "I know you two are very different but you also are a lot alike. You should both try and work on..shall we say tolerating one another." She decided it was for the best to not point out that both her husband and Logan shared a very stubborn demeanor. 

Scott's face screwed up into obvious annoyance, a sign that he was thinking "over my dead body."

_ I make everything difficult? And I'll tolerate him like I'd tolerate a hole in the skull._ Logan saw Jean reach over and brush Scott's hair back, then gently kiss him. A surge of jealousy welled up from the pit of his stomach._ How does a guy like him..get a girl like her?_ Logan clenched his fists at his sides. He would much sooner eat his own adamantium claws before admitting that he was more than slightly jealous of Scott and his relationship with Jean. A very deep part of him longed for what they had together. He saw Jean start to get up and moved past the doorway in a hurry to avoid being seen. When he was safely in his room he plopped down on his bed and sighed. He was suddenly feeling very tired. Sighing again, he undressed and pulled on a pair of flannel pants and a white t-shirt. As he climbed into bed he could hear giggling as the younger members of the mansion refused to sleep until they had the tree decorated. For awhile he lay there in the dark, listening to the noise; which occasionally turned into an argument about who was going to put the star on top and who should hang up certain decorations. Then he would glance at his alarm clock, go back to listening to the voices, and finally he'd let his thoughts drift to Jean. This continued in the same cycle for quite some time. By the time there was silence from the other room, a dull ache had started behind his eyes. No longer able to fight off fatigue, Logan allowed his eyes to fall closed and he drifted off into the restlessness that often plagued him while he slept. 

  


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Logan sat bolt up right, gasping and breathing heavily. He was used to waking up this way. When he finally recovered from the disorientation of just waking up, he realized his shirt was plastered to his body with sweat. There were rings around the collar of the shirt and under his arms, as well as a patch down his chest and his hair was soaked and stuck to his forehead. Pulling himself from the bed he managed to stumble into the bathroom and sit down on the closed lid of the toilet. This was one of the few times in his life Logan could actually say he didn't feel well. He felt downright rotten. But he couldn't be sick. That never happened. Logan was suddenly reminded of his hands. Looking down at them he rubbed the red marks where his claws came out. _Maybe there's something wrong with me._ _Something does feel a bit off._ Shaking himself out of his stupor he came back to damp clothes and a headache from the pulsing behind his eyes. 

"I guess the best thing would be go get these clammy clothes off," he said out loud to himself. He stripped off the sticky clothes and tossed them into a heap on the floor. After he adjusted the water, he hopped into the shower and let the warmth cascade over his body. The stream felt good as it hit his neck and back, and his face when he turned around. He always marveled about how a shower could wash away just about anything. Dirt, grime, anger, pain. Once the water was turned on all of that could be sent down the drain. When he was finished, he grabbed a towel and headed back out into the main room. The shower had made him feel a bit better. He pulled on another pair of pants and a shirt and settled back onto the bed. He glanced at his alarm clock and noticed that it read 2:30 in the morning. A feeling of fatigue still hung over his body but when he closed his eyes he found himself doing nothing more than rolling around. He flopped on his stomach and watched the snow falling outside his window. _Wonder how much there is, _he mused. After a few minutes he began to try and count the snowflakes. 

"35, 36, 37," he counted out loud groggily. His voice slowly began to trail off and the outside became a blur of white as Logan managed to count up to 43 before finally falling back asleep. 

  


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Just down the hall, someone else was also trying to quell their restlessness. Scott found himself lying awake watching the snow falling outside. He turned his head and watched Jean sleep. He could often read her emotions just by this simple act. Most of the time she slept on her side, facing him. If she'd had a bad day or something was bothering her, her hands and feet would move just slightly and sometimes she'd make little murmuring noises. When she was angry, she often gritted her teeth and would roll from side to side. He liked it when she was calm. When Jean was calm and happy, he was calm and happy. He couldn't imagine his life without Jean, nor did he want to try. After watching her for a few more moments, he glanced back to the window. 

"Scott?" Jean, still half asleep, said softly.

"Shh. Go back to sleep dear," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head. 

"Is your ankle bothering you?" she whispered. Her eyes never opened and the only movement made was to yawn. 

"I'm ok." All in all he wasn't feeling too bad. Just a little sore, and tired.

Jean's eyes fluttered open. "Would you like some aspirin?"

"No hun, I'm fine. Just go back to sleep."

"I'll go get you some Tylenol." She slowly pulled herself up before Scott could protest and grabbed her bathrobe. She disappeared into their bathroom and returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water. While Scott was downing the aspirin, she picked up one of the now warm ice packs from his foot. "It's still pretty swollen. I'll go grab some fresh ice packs."

"Jean–," he started to say, but she had already left the room. 

"Here you go," Jean smiled as she placed the ice packs on Scott's foot. When she was satisfied she climbed back under the covers and curled up next to him, her arm draped over his chest.

All he could do was smile and wrap his arm around her. "Thank you sweetheart."

Jean had already fallen back asleep and now Scott finally felt content to do the same. Smiling, he let his eyes close and sleep engulf him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

  
  


"JEAN!" Scott hollered. He waited a moment and when his wife did not appear he let out another wail of, "JEEEEEAN!"

A few moments later Jean stumbled through their bedroom door, panting and out of breath. The look on her face showed she was expecting to find Scott sprawled on the floor bleeding by the way he was hollering. "Good lord honey, what's the yelling for? Are you all right?"

"I'm hungry," he replied matter-of-factly.

For a moment Jean looked as if she might pick him up and give him something to holler about. Scaring her to death like that! She only sighed and shook her head before asking, "What would you like?"

Scott thought for a moment. "Scrambled eggs and bacon. And some coffee. Can I have grape jelly with my toast?"

"Of course dear," Jean smirked and turned to go to the kitchen. It hadn't even been a day since Scott had gotten hurt and he was already beginning to show signs of boredom and cabin-fever. She hoped she'd survive this.

  


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Down the hall Logan sat up with a start when he heard someone hollering. "Time . . . " he muttered, straining to look at his clock. The digital display read 8:02. _I'm going to kill One-eye_. _Just one claw should do it._ He contemplated dropping back to his pillow and going back to sleep but figured since he was already awake he might as well get up. Raking his hand through his hair he realized going to bed with it wet was probably not a good idea. He got up and stood in front of the mirror. Sure enough his hair was sticking out in all different directions. His face had sleep lines on it and he was sure the white, crusty, patch stuck to the corner of his mouth was drool. Stumbling, he managed to grab a pair of jeans and a shirt and stumble into the bathroom. He blinked and regretted it. His head still hurt, and the movement amplified the pain behind his eyes._ Hope a shower gets rid of this headache._ Logan adjusted the water and hopped in the shower hoping his whole day wasn't going to be driven by the pain in his head.

  


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"He's called for me three times," Jean sighed over her mug of coffee. "And he's only been awake for an hour and a half."

"Well you know they say men do make the worst patients," Storm chuckled. "Especially the ones who don't get sick or injured often..but when they do they make it out to be like the world is coming to an end."

"Oh I hear that. When Scott had laryngitis last winter . . . you'd think his not being able to talk would keep him quiet but he had me hopping. He's absolutely HORRID when he's sick."

Both women looked up when Logan stumbled into the kitchen.

"My, you're up quite early, Logan," Storm smiled. "Should we consider this a rare treat?"

The only response she got was a grunt as he snatched a mug and headed for the coffee maker. Jean glanced at Storm.

"Since when do you drink coffee, Logan?" She asked.

Logan turned around as he sipped the bland mixture. It caught him off guard, as Jean was right. He never drank coffee. "Since–*cough* this morning–*cough*," he replied as he attempted to catch his breath.

Jean eyed him suspiciously. "Are you all right?"

Bristling a bit at her question, Logan merely replied with a gruff, "Fine." He laced his fingers behind the mug and left to go watch TV in the other room.

"That was interesting," Storm replied.

Jean nodded. She was about to say something when another "JEAN!" sounded from down the hall. 

Storm chuckled and winked. "Good luck," she called as Jean removed herself from the table with a sigh. 

  


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"Here," Scott thrust a stack of papers into Jean's hand. "This is a schedule."

"A schedule for what?" Jean questioned.

"For the Danger Room. I want everyone to keep up with training."

"This is what you hollered to me for?" she said tersely. 

Scott fell back. "Well I'm sorry if I want things to run smoothly while I'm out of commission. Magneto might be in prison again, but we still need to keep on top of things."

"I know dear, but we'll handle it. Everything is going to be fine."

He couldn't help sighing again as he leaned back against the pillows. Being immobilized bothered him. He knew full well that without him to nag them, no one would be in the danger room. They probably looked at this as a vacation. 

"You look tired," Jean smiled sympathetically.

She was right. Scott was tired and his ankle had begun to bother him again. The pills she'd given him had worn off. He gave a large yawn and nodded. Jean kissed his forehead and went to get him some more aspirin. He took the pills without complaint and shortly there after fell asleep. Smiling as she tucked the blanket around him, Jean gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek and exited the room.

  


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Logan was standing in the kitchen fighting with the top on an aspirin bottle, unknowing that he was being watched. Growling, he tried to stick the bottle in his mouth and pry the lid off. When this didn't work, he put it on the floor and tried to step on it. He jumped a mile when Storm appeared at his side and gently took the bottle.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. With a slight twist of the cap and a flick of her thumb, the lid popped off. She handed the bottle back to Logan.

Logan stared at it and crinkled his eyes in annoyance. He followed this up with a wince. It had caused his head to throb once again. "I have a headache."

Storm looked at him with concern. "Are you not feeling well?" 

Logan dodged her outstretched hand as she tried to feel his forehead. "I'm fine. I can't get sick, remember?" He turned his attention to the bottle, unsure of how many pills he should take. The label said the recommended dosage was two, but he wasn't sure that would put a dent in his aching head. 

"Well something must be wrong," Storm continued. "I've never seen you take aspirin before."

He was tired of being badgered. It was making his head hurt more. Reluctantly he popped two of the pills into his mouth, snapped the lid on and retreated from Storm's scrutinizing looks. She followed him as he entered the hallway but stopped when he went into his room.

"Jean," Storm spoke as she caught Jean coming out of her own room. "I think maybe you should speak to Logan."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," the white-haired woman shook her head. "But I just found him in the kitchen taking aspirin. He said he had a headache."

"Hmm. I'll check on him in a bit," Jean replied. 

Storm nodded, seemingly satisfied that Jean would make sure Logan was all right. She smiled and went to grade the term papers that her students had handed in yesterday.

Jean made a move toward Logan's room but was assaulted by yet another holler of her name. She sighed and went back into her own bedroom.

  


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With the snow falling all night there was a good 2 feet covering the ground. As many of the children had discovered, this was the kind of snow that was just right for making snowballs. So when a crowd of young mutants, as well as Bobby, Rogue, Gambit and Kurt tracked into the mansion late that afternoon with white powder adorning their hair and snow clothes, Storm couldn't help but chuckle. 

"You all look like you had quite the time," she remarked, helping some of the smaller children remove their wet jackets, gloves, and boots. 

"It be great fun out der Miss Storm," Gambit grinned. "Gambit tink Miss Storm should play next time."

"It was fun!" a young girl named Ashley squealed. "Bobby made alots of snowballs fly at us!"

Storm chuckled. "Well it sounds like fun. Maybe I will play next time. But for now, who wants hot chocolate? I believe Jean has mugs ready for all of us in the kitchen."

Her response generated a thunderous herd of small children, as well as Gambit, Kurt, Bobby and Rogue, skittering down the hall to the kitchen. Storm had to jump out of the way to avoid being tackled. 

"Hey where's Logan?" Rogue suddenly asked. "I 'aven't seen him all day. Come ta think of it, I 'aven't seen him since he put the tree up las' night."

Jean winced. "Oh no. I completely forgot about him." 

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Where is he?"

"Still in his bedroom I suppose." Jean felt horrible for forgetting she'd promised Storm she'd check on Logan. 

"Well since dinnah is almos' readeh..I'll go and let him know," Rogue drawled. She grabbed a mug and headed down the hall, knocking gently on Logan's door when she reached it.

She waited and got no response. Slowly she turned the knob, and surprisingly the door opened. She peeked her head around the door. "Logan?" she whispered.

Logan was sprawled out on his bed, appearing to be asleep. Unbeknownst to anyone else, he'd been there since speaking with Storm in the kitchen earlier that morning. 

"Logan?" Rogue whispered again, tip-toeing toward the bed. Remembering what had happened the last time, she was cautious. "Logan shugah, dinnah's almos' readeh."

Stirring, Logan responded with a low groan and a growl. He stretched his arms out. The aspirin hadn't helped. His head still ached, and now the rest of his body decided to have a contest to see which could ache more. 

"Are you all right?"

Logan's voice stuck in his throat but he finally managed to spit out, "Yeah kid, I'm fine." 

"Well ever'one's waitin downstairs. You comin down for dinnah?"

"Yeah..just..give me a minute."

Rogue hesitated for a moment, but then slowly turned and headed back to the kitchen.

  


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Once Rogue had gone, Logan managed to sit himself up. His arms and legs felt like they'd been weighted down with lead. He felt unnaturally warm as well and there was an odd sensation in the back of his throat. When he stumbled past the mirror he nearly fell back as he caught a glimpse of himself. For the second time that day his hair was on end and his face had a mark from where he'd fallen asleep against his watch. Now he was a faint shade of white, and his cheeks carried the familiar crimson color that indicated a fever. How could he go down to dinner looking like this? Not that he felt much like eating, but he knew if he didn't put in an appearance someone would come looking for him and undoubtedly start fussing. He grabbed a comb and managed to tame his hair. Now to tackle his face. _What's that stuff the girls always use?_ Creeping out into the hall he headed for Jean's room, hoping to find some of whatever it is she used on her face. He stopped abruptly, remembering that Scott was currently occupying the bedroom. Changing direction, he headed toward the room Rogue shared with two other female occupants at the mansion. Creeping ever so quietly and trying not to make any unnecessary noise, as well as not aggravate his angry body, he snuck into the bathroom and began picking through bottles. He smiled triumphantly at finding what he needed. _Boy, I'd never live this down if anyone saw me putting on MAKE-UP! _At first he tried dabbing the gunk on in small amounts but it did nothing to cover his red and white complexion. By the time he'd finished he'd used half of the bottle and his face was so liberally covered he could barely move to talk for fear the mask would crack. It was a far cry from how he normally looked, and he'd managed to get some of it in his sideburns, but he hoped at least that it would get him through dinner.

  


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He managed to slip quietly into place just as Jean was returning from the kitchen after bringing dinner to Scott. Throughout the meal he tried to keep his head down, pretending to be clearly engrossed in his plate. He hardly ate any of his meal and instead pushed it around his plate and took meager bites whenever he felt someone was looking at him. When he was just about free and clear, Storm decided to make idle chit-chat.

"Logan, you are awfully quiet tonight," she commented.

"Uh....yeah," he tried to sound gruff. It did nothing for his throat and almost set him coughing. "Tired."

"You've been sleeping all day," Jean broke in.

"Didn't sleep well last night," Logan replied quickly. His face was beginning to feel very warm, and he sensed sweat beads starting to dot his forehead. He neglected to read the bottle, but he was fairly certain that the stuff plastered on his face was not sweat-proof. 

"Are you sure you're all right?" 

Logan forced another bite of food in his mouth and tried to act as much like himself as he could. "Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm ok? Do I look any different than I usually do?" As soon as the snide remark left his mouth he regretted it. Especially when he remembered that one of the people staring at him was a telepath. She could probably see right through him. "Well, if you'll all excuse me. He quickly removed himself from the table and exited the room.

"Ok Storm," Jean spoke. "Logan now has my full attention. Something definitely is not right with him." She abandoned the rest of her dinner and proceeded to follow Logan.

"I have ta agree," Rogue admitted. "Somethin ain't right with him."

Storm nodded. "Maybe I should go help Jean. She's had a rough day with Scott and all."

The others all shrugged and began to set about cleaning up the remains from dinner. 

  


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Logan stumbled into his room and sat on his bed. He felt like someone had lit a match underneath him. The room grew unbearably warm, very quickly. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and discovered shaking and uncooperative hands. _What's going on? This isn't right. _He needed to get to the bathroom. The room was spinning. His eyes doubled and his vision swam. As he stood up he was overcome with a wave of dizziness. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed and lurched forward, striking just above his right eye against the corner of the night stand. The lamp wobbled and fell to the floor with a loud crash.

Out in the hall, Jean and Storm were talking when they heard the crash from Logan's room. Both of them turned and ran, pushing the door open.

"Logan!" Jean called out. "Logan where are you?" She flicked the wall switch to light up the room and caught a glimpse of one of Logan's feet on the floor. Hurrying around to the other side of the bed, she dropped to her knees with Storm close behind. "Help me roll him."

Storm nodded, her eyes wide. She knew the moment her hands touched Logan's body that something was wrong. 

"He's burning up," Jean spoke. She too could feel the heat radiating off of him. "Go and get Hank. We need to get him downstairs."

Storm had only moved this fast a few times in her life. Hurrying down the lower level hallway she began calling out, "Hank! Hank, come quick! We need you!"

To her relief the doors opened and Henry McCoy, also a doctor at the mansion, appeared out of the medlab. "My dear Ororo, what is all the fuss about?"

"We need you, quick, "Storm breathed heavily. "It's Logan."

  


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When Henry and Storm returned to Logan's room, a crowd had gathered outside. As Hank made his way to where Jean was kneeling on the floor trying to bring Logan around, Storm managed to control the crowd by ushering them back to their rooms or the living room and assuring them that the situation was being taken care of.

"We need to get him downstairs. Now." Jean's voice was edged with worry.

Henry picked Logan up with no problem and began carrying him to the medlab.

Rogue watched, her mouth opening and closing. "I need to go...with him."

Grabbing her gloved hand, Bobby held her. "Rogue they'll take care of him. You should stay here. Getting in the way won't help Logan."

She wasn't comforted by this and squirmed away from his grasp. "You don't understand..I need to go."

Bobby watched as she hurried down the hall after the others. His hand dropped to his side and he followed Jubilee and Kitty into the living room. __

  


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The scene in the medlab was hectic. Rogue tried to stay out of the way, but she wanted nothing more than to run to the man who'd become like an older brother to her. Jean and Hank were busy hooking Logan up to all sorts of machines. 

"His fever is 105," Jean noted. "And climbing."

Hank started an IV in one of Logan's arms and began injecting various medications into it. Jean was applying electrodes to his chest and after a few moments the machine began to beep. 

"Heart-rate is good," Hank said as he looked at the machine. No sooner had he spoke than the machine began to beep erratically.

"Temperature's up to 106!" Jean called out, moving quickly around the table.

"Storm please get us all the ice you can find, as well as plastic bags," Hank said, rather calmly given the situation. 

Storm nodded and quickly hurried from the main room as Jean placed a cold washcloth on Logan's forehead. "He's seizing!" 

Tears began to stream down Rogue's face. What was going on? She breathed heavily as Logan's body began to convulse on the metal table. Hank and Jean worked quickly, injecting more medicine into the IV.

Jean stared directly into Hank's eyes. "We need to get his fever down...and fast."

Thankfully Storm returned, stopping almost dead as she saw the scene unfolding in front of her. She shrugged if off and hurried to the table.

"Pack it under his arms and around his legs," Jean ordered as she hurried to grab more cloths. While Storm began packing Logan's body in ice, Hank continued to watch the monitor, which was still beeping erratically.

Rogue sank to the floor. She covered her hands with her eyes.

"Seizures are subsiding," Hank breathed a sigh of relief.

Jean glanced at the monitor and then at the thermometer in her hand. "Heart-rate is stabilizing and his temperature is down to 105.5." 

Looking up, Rogue sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. There seemed to be a mutual sigh of relief that went through the room. 

"What do we do now?" Storm asked.

Jean looked from Storm to Hank and then back to Logan. "We wait...and pray. He's not out of the woods yet...and it's going to be a long night."

Everyone looked around at the others in the room. They knew that there would be no easy rest that night until Logan came back to them. They settled into chairs or empty beds to sleep, at least one person staying awake to keep watch through the night, hoping that Logan would wake up soon. 

  


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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

  


Authors Note: First off I just want to say how horribly sorry I am for not updating. I spent 3 months doing medical processing for the Air Force, got sick two times, college semester started, and generally life just came up and gave me a swift kick in the butt. I'm still not sure where I'm going with this, but hopefully I'll be able to figure it out. Anyways, enjoy. 

  


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Jean sauntered quietly back and forth across the med lab. She glanced at her watch and noted it was about 3 in the morning. After finding her asleep on the floor, Hank had taken Rogue back upstairs to her own room and now he and Storm were both napping on cots across the med lab. They had decided once Logan stabilized that it would be best to take shifts looking after him. Jean walked back to the table and stood there, looking down at Logan. He looked frail and weak, not at all like tough and rugged Wolverine. His skin was pale, except for the flush in his cheeks and dotted with beads of perspiration. The heart monitor he was connected to beeped a steady rhythm. Jean checked the drip on the IV, and the breathing tube they'd been forced to put in after he started having seizures. She removed the cloth from his forehead and replaced it with a cold one, then took another cloth and gently wiped across his bare chest and over his arms. She stopped when he began to stir. 

"Logan?" she whispered softly, sitting down next to him and taking a hold of one of his hands. "Open your eyes." He didn't move again and Jean was afraid that maybe it was just an involuntary response. "Please Logan, come on."

Logan's eyelids fluttered open, then promptly closed. Jean dimmed the lights with her powers. Slowly he opened his eyes again and let them wander. 

"You gave us a big scare," Jean smiled, still holding onto his hand. She sensed he was confused. "I'm not sure why, but you got very, very sick. Your temperature shot up to 106..."

Logan's eyes closed again. All the information was too much to process. He was tired, and confused, and he hurt. When Jean stopped talking, he turned to her and reached up cautiously to the tube in his mouth. 

"We can take it out," she informed him, turning a crank on the table that brought him to a sitting position. "On the count of 3 I want you to blow, and I'll take the tube out. 1, 2, 3" 

As he blew outward, Jean pulled on the tube. Once it was out he began to gag and cough and sputter. "Nice, deep breaths," she told him, and then handed him a cup of water. 

The coughing and gagging had woken Storm and Hank up and before he knew it, Logan had an audience standing around him. He felt uncomfortable being hooked up to all the wires and tubes and machines, as well as being half naked. 

"My throat hurts," he whispered. 

"Well that's probably from the tube," Jean smoothed back his hair. "You were having seizures and we had to put that in to help you breathe."

"This isn't supposed to happen." He began coughing again. 

Jean's face fell flat. "I'm running tests to try and figure out what's going on. But for now, all I can do is treat your symptoms."

"Jean.." Logan said and swallowed hard. 

"What's wrong?"

He continued swallowing. A strange feeling was welling up in the pit of his stomach. Jean managed to get the pan in front of him just before he lurched sideways and started to vomit. Logan looked absolutely miserable. Jean could tell this was definitely a new experience for him. All she could do was rub his back until he was finished. If it weren't for the fact that he felt so horrible, he would have vehemently protested being watched while he threw up. 

"Here. This should help," Storm smiled sympathetically as she handed him another glass of water. 

Logan took the glass with a grunt of thanks and began to drink it. Too quickly he decided, because it didn't stay down very long. This time he put up a fight and between heaves managed to croak out, "Could you guys just leave me alone. I don't need an audience." His stomach flipped again and he continued to vomit. 

Jean looked to Storm and Hank and gave them a nod to say that she could handle it. They understood and after saying they hoped he felt better, left Jean to tend to Logan.

"You know, being sick isn't anything to be ashamed of."

"It is when you don't get sick," Logan replied, leaning back on the bed and turning away from her. "I'm tired."

Sighing, Jean made sure that her patient was warm and comfortable and left him alone to rest. She dimmed the lights and on her way out, told him if he needed anything to use the button attached to the bed. 

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For a long time Logan lay very still, staring out into the dimly lit room. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but he was achy, hot, and the beeping of the heart monitor was starting to drive him nuts. Finally he grabbed at the wires attached to his chest and ripped them off. Unfortunately, instead of simply making the beeping stop, the monitor began going haywire. Alarms went off, and the beeping turned to a steady hum, thinking that his heart had actually stopped. 

"Aww shit," he rasped, covering his ears. He sat up and fought back a wave of dizziness and then started pushing buttons to try and shut the annoying machine off. It refused to comply, and he was about five seconds from simply putting a claw through it. 

"What's going on in here?" a tired voice said above the noise. Jean hurried in and looked from Logan to the machine, and then to the dangling wires. 

Jean was wearing sweat pants and a long sleeve pajama top. Even in his current state, Logan still mused at the fact that Jean could pull off looking sexy in pajamas. "Sorry," he whispered. His throat was killing him. "I couldn't sleep, and that machine was bugging the shit out of me."

Rolling her eyes, Jean shut the machine off. She was tired. Between Scott, and spending most of the night looking after Logan, she had had very little sleep. It was beginning to show. "Just, sleep. The more rest you get, the quicker you'll get better." She frowned and then turned to go back upstairs. 

Logan watched her go and then settled back onto the bed. He sneezed a few times, rolled around to try and find a comfortable position, and managed to fall into a coughing, tossing and turning, congested sleep. 

  


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"Hey shugah," Rogue smiled as she stepped tentatively into the med-lab. "How are you feeling?"

Logan was playing with the controls on the bed he'd been moved to. "Fine," he replied flatly without even looking at Rogue. He didn't want anyone to see him in such a miserable state. 

"You really scared us," she said softly, looking down at her hands. "I mean...well I was really scared."

He looked over at her and then broke into a series of loud sneezes, then followed them up with a very loud attempt at keeping snot from running down his face. Rogue looked rather disgusted. She walked across the room and returned with a box of Kleenex.

"Here..these work much better than sucking that junk down into your throat. It'll upset your stomach even more," she informed him.

Logan slowly pulled one of the tissues from the box. He'd never been sick before. How did people do this? There was no way he was going ask Rogue for instructions on how to blow his nose. He stared at her while he held the tissue in his hands. She got the hint.

"You rest, and if you're feeling better later I'll come back and we can play a board game or something." She smiled at him and headed out of the room. 

As soon as she was gone, Logan put the tissue to his nose and blew. He winced as his ears popped unmercifully. He tried it again, this time a little softer, and to his amazement he discovered it was a much better way of unclogging his stuffed up sinuses. _Maybe if I keep doing this I can get all the junk out and be able to breathe, _he thought. For the next half hour he sat, engrossed in blowing his nose. He kept pulling tissue after tissue from the box. Finally, when the box was empty and he was surrounded by used Kleenex but was still stuffed up, he grumbled and settled back into the bed. Now he had another ailment to add to his growing list. He'd have to remember to ask for extra-soft tissues when Jean came back. He had a feeling he must look like Rudolph.

  


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"Whoa," Jean surveyed the room. Logan was nowhere to be seen, but his bed, and the floor around it were littered with crumpled up tissues. The toilet in the adjoining bathroom flushed and Logan appeared a moment later. "You feeling any better?"

He grumbled and pushed the Kleenex onto the floor, then climbed back into the bed. "No."

"Well, I thought maybe if you think your stomach can hold a little bit of food that you might like some soup." She handed him the bowl and then started to sweep up the tissues. "You used an entire box of Kleenex?"

"I'm really stuffed up," he sniffed to demonstrate while he played with the soup. Tentatively he sipped some of it and waited to see what would happen.

Suddenly an agitated and whiney voice came over the intercom. "Jeeeeean?" it wailed.

"What is it Scott?" Jean sighed, speaking back through the intercom.

"Can I have lunch?" Scott's voice came back.

Logan saw Jean ball one of her fists at her side. He ducked under his blanket and tried to pretend to be asleep. He figured that laying down might put him out of harms way if objects started to fly.

"I'm sure Storm would make you a sandwich if you asked her," Jean replied tersely.

There was a moment of silence before, "But I want you to make it."

Logan buried his face. He heard the door slam as Jean left the med-lab. Suddenly his stomach responded to the soup. He was going to be sick again. His attempt to remove himself from the bed didn't go quite as planned and he ended up tangled in the blanket, falling over the side of the bed and sending a flurry of tissues up into the air. He scrambled to the bathroom just in time. He felt really disgusting being covered in sweat and having a horrible metallic soup taste in his mouth. Throwing up seemed to sap him of the little bit of energy he had, he sank to the floor and let the coolness of the tiles press against his fevered forehead. It felt good against his face, but made the rest of his body shiver. He just wanted to go back to his bed; his nice, warm bed but he had run out of strength to drag himself from the floor.

  


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"Logan," a gentle voice said, which was followed by a soft hand gently shaking him. 

"Mmmpff," he grumbled. When he opened his eyes, Storm was standing over him. He realized he'd fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. 

"Come on, let's get you back to bed," She said, helping Logan get to his feet.

He was extremely dizzy, and was shivering so much his teeth were chattering. Storm managed to deposit him into the bed and cover him up. He continued to shiver.

"W-w-here's J-J-ean?"

"Shhh," Storm hushed him. "She's resting. Between you and Scott she hasn't had any sleep herself. Relax. Hank and I are here."

Hank appeared out of a closet with an extra blanket. "How are you feeling Mr. Logan?" he asked in his distinct, physician way. 

Logan wished people would stop asking him that. He closed his eyes and burrowed into a ball, hoping to get warm. A moment later he felt Storm's soft hands on his burning face.

"Hank, he's really warm."

Something hard, which Logan guessed was a thermometer, was shoved in his ear. He tried to pull away from it and heard a sigh followed by Hank saying, "His fever has gone back up."

_Just let me die peacefully_, Logan cursed to himself. If they didn't stop hovering and smothering he thought he'd go crazy. Of course, going crazy would require energy, which he most certainly had none of at the moment. 

  


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Logan spent two days quarantined in the med-lab, where he was repeatedly poked and prodded. They took his blood, made him pee in a cup, as well as stuck a little light up his nose, in his ears, and down his throat, which concluded that he was not only suffering from the flu and a horrible head and chest cold, but that his tonsils were quite inflamed. To add more to his misery, he'd been forced to allow Jean to give him a shot of penicillin in the rear-end. It seemed to only put a small dent in his fever but didn't do much of anything else, and every time she'd come into the room afterwards, he'd had to turn away so she wouldn't see how embarrassed he was. He was also surprised at the number of cards and thoughtful notes that came down from upstairs, as apparently word had circulated about his being ill. It hadn't occurred to him that he meant that much to the other occupants of the mansion.

As Logan entered his third day in the med lab, some good news finally came his way. "Well," Hank smiled as he examined the thermometer. "Your fever is down. Do you think you're feeling well enough to go back to your room upstairs?"

Logan thought about his soft bed and his own bathroom. He was feeling better, but he was still completely exhausted, congested, and his body ached, although he'd managed to keep a small amount of ginger-ale down. "Yeah. I think so."

Hank smiled. "Just stay in bed and take it easy, and you should be over this in a few days."

"Great," Logan grumbled and then coughed. "A few more days of hell."

"You'll be fine."

Logan sighed and sniffled as he tugged on a t-shirt and a pair of pants. He stood up and grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself.

"Logan?" Hank questioned. "Maybe you should--"

Logan held up a hand and slowly shook his head. "I'm fine." He slowly made his way out of the med-lab and upstairs.

"Hey," Bobby called. "Hey how are you feeling?"

"Fine, kid," Logan sniffled. 

"You're up," Rogue smiled, appearing out of the living room. "They finally let you out?"

Logan erupted into several loud sneezes. Both Bobby and Rogue stepped back.

"Kleenex," he mumbled behind his hands. 

Rogue hurried into the living room to grab a box and tossed it to Logan. He caught it with one hand, barely, and hurried into his room. 

  


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"You're looking a little better," Jean smiled. She was sitting on the edge of Logan's bed, looking slightly more rested than the last time he'd seen her. "Did Hank take your temperature before he let you leave?"

"Mmmhmm," Logan nodded, sneezing into a Kleenex. "I can't...stop...ACHOO! ACHOO! sneezing...and I ache all over."

Jean looked at him sympathetically and pushed a damp strand of hair off his forehead. "You know what might make you feel better?"

_If you curled up next to me and held me in your arms, _Logan thought. "What?"

"A nice warm bath. That always makes me feel better."

That did sound nice. Logan shrugged, "I guess."

She patted him on the leg and then headed into his bathroom. He heard the water running a short time later and then from down the hall, "JEAN I NEED ANOTHER ICE PACK!" If he could have seen the ice pack Jean sent floating to Scott hit him in the face, he would have sent himself into a coughing fit from laughter. 

"Go take your bath," Jean said, re-emerging from the bathroom. "I'll bring you a bowl of soup and some ginger-ale when I give Scott dinner."

"And some more tissues?" Logan sniffled, dragging himself off the bed.

"And some more tissues," Jean replied, smirking as she headed out the door. 

Stumbling into the bathroom, Logan stripped off his clothes and stared at the bathtub of water. Tentatively he dipped a toe in, then slowly a foot. The water was pleasantly warm and he was thankful for Jean's idea. He eased the rest of himself in until he was sitting, then curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. After a few moments he leaned into the water, so his back was resting on the slope of the tub.

A loud knock on the door followed by, "Logan!" startled him back to reality. The water had grown tepid. He'd fallen asleep in the bathtub!

"Logan, shug, are you alright?" Rogue's voice asked, edged with concern. She waited for a moment before a stuffed up, "yeah fine, kid" came back. A moment later he appeared, wrapped tightly in a flannel bathrobe. "Did you fall asleep?"

All she got in response was a mumble as Logan headed to the dresser and grabbed some clothes. Rogue left the room without a word and when she came back, Logan was now dressed in comfortable clothes, and she was carrying a hair dryer.

"What's that for?"

She proceeded to plug the dryer in. "You're sick, and you shouldn't be walking around, or sleeping with wt hair."

"Oh no," he started to protest and sent himself into a coughing fit. 

Rogue took this chance to advance on him in his distracted state and before he could wiggle away, she'd turned the dryer on him. She knew he was weak, and wasn't going to put up a fight so instead he sat there, sniffling, arms crossed, sporting one of the ugliest scowls Rogue had ever seen. 

"There," she smiled, "You're finished. Nice and dry." She kissed him on the top of the head and headed out the door with a, "Feel better Logan."

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Logan rolled over on his left side and stared out the window. He watched the snow fall and then rolled onto his stomach. Sniffling, he flopped on his back. After he'd managed to keep down a half a bowl of soup and some ginger-ale, he figured he must be getting better. Now he was rolling from side to side, trying to get comfortable. He was exhausted but achy and still moderately feverish, and his nose was so stuffed up he thought his eyes might pop out of his skull. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. He sat up groggily and wrapped his blanket around himself so it covered over his head like a hood. Everyone else must be asleep, he decided. He hadn't bothered to look at the clock The only lights on were the dim hall lights. As he headed toward the living room, he noticed the television and a light were on. _Oh just who I want to see_, he scowled. Scott was stretched out on the couch, his ankle propped up and wrapped in ice, flipping through the television channels. 

Scott felt the presence of someone behind him and turned his head to see who it was. His first instinct was to scowl and voice a smart remark. But he saw how miserable Logan looked and bit his tongue. In fact, he felt sort of sorry for the man. He figured it must be difficult to deal with being sick, when you'd never been sick in your life. Neither of them spoke.

Logan cleared his throat and made the first move, "How's the foot?"

"Fine," Scott looked down. "How's your...," he paused, unsure of what to say and finally settled on, "Cold."

"Fine," Logan echoed. He erupted into a few loud sneezes, and Scott turned his head to shield himself. 

"You should sit down," Scott said in a monotone voice. He noticed Logan really wasn't looking too hot. Hesitantly he moved himself farther back on the couch to make more room. 

_Ok, I must be sicker than I thought. He's being nice to me. Am I dying, or is this some kind of a dream, _Logan wondered?He was feeling dizzy though so he sat down on the other end of the couch. He broke into a fit of coughs that sent his sore throat into flames again. 

Scott watched him for a few moments. _Wow, he really is sick. _"Have you taken anything?"

"Huh?"

"You should take something for that. You'll feel better, and you'll be able to get some sleep." Logan didn't answer, and finally Scott pulled himself up so he was standing on his good foot, and tucked his crutches under his arms. "Come on."

Reluctantly, Logan followed Scott to the kitchen. He stood there still wrapped in his blanket as the other mutant began rummaging through the cupboards. After a few moments he turned, showing he'd found what he was looking for.

"What's this stuff?" Logan rasped.

"It's Nyquil. Trust me, you'll feel a lot better once it kicks in."

"How much of it am I supposed to have?" Logan questioned, taking the bottle. 

Scott rummaged around in the cupboard again. "I think a half of that little medicine cup should do it."

Logan examined the bottle again, and then poured some of it into the cup.

"You might want--"Scott started, and then cringed as Logan merely downed the medicine. "To get a glass of water," he finished as Logan began to hack and sputter while trying not to spit the foul mixture out all over the place.__

_ "_You could have warned me," Logan snarled, which set him coughing.

Scott frowned. _The thanks I get for being nice_, he muttered to himself_._

A glass of water seemed to control the coughing and Logan finally asked, "So what are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," was the response he got, as Scott popped a few pills into his mouth. He hobbled back to the living room with Logan following behind and settled back on the couch. 

Slowly Logan made his way to the other end of the couch and stretched out. "I suppose If we both can't sleep, we might as well not sleep together.." 

He got a funny look from Scott.

"That didn't come out the way I wanted it to."

"You're congested, and your brain is functioning less than usual," was the reply back.

Logan scowled. "You want another broken ankle one-eye?"

Neither one said anything else. Scott picked up the remote and started channel surfing again. He stopped on a VH1 special of a Britney Spears concert. "You can change it if you want," he offered the remote to Logan, his eyes glued to the TV behind his ruby-quartz glasses.

Logan tried to pretend not to be transfixed by Britney dancing on screen. "Um, well whatever...I don't really care."

The only sound in the living room came from the TV as silence reigned again between the two men. 

"You know, I kind of feel bad for her," Scott finally spoke.

"What? Why?"

"Well I mean she gets all this negative attention just because she's not ashamed of her body."

Logan finally said what both men were thinking. "She's hot. I mean, hell if I was a chick I'd be showin' that off too. More chicks should be proud'a bein sexy." 

When Scott didn't reply, Logan tore his eyes from the screen. He could tell by his breathing that his companion had fallen asleep. Turning back to Britney, he watched until his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep as well. That was how Jean and Storm found them the next morning. Logan curled up on his side, snoring with his mouth open at one end of the couch, and Scott at the other end, murmuring. 

"Let them sleep," Jean smiled. "We'll get some peace and quiet, and they'll get some rest."

Storm smiled back and whispered, "I'll make the coffee," as the two women headed to the kitchen to get some breakfast. 

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